Release the hate that you harbour!
by Contrasting-Death
Summary: Series of one shots. Ox, the guy we never thought would be to much of an important character. He's deeper than one might think...
1. Maka

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul eater.

Note: This chapter has now been re-written. Please enjoy!

**RELEASE THE HATE THAT YOU HARBOUR!**

As the sun emerged from the horizon, the students of Shibusen had just started to drag themselves to class since the bell had already sounded. However, for one of the students, dragging was way too fast. Her pace was more suited for a snail on morphine. Alas, Maka did manage to cross the threshold into the classroom where her classmates were just getting seated. While she made her way to her seat, where she collapsed on her bench, she absently noticed Tsubaki watching her. Maka however, chose to ignore this in favor of trying to get a quick nap before professor Stein showed up.

Tsubaki however, despite being both considerate and patient, decided after careful consideration to ask what was troubling her friend. But as she opened her mouth to ask, the boy who was sitting beside Maka decided to explain in a frustrated tone the cause of their bench-mate's misery.

"Her father was on the phone until four o'clock this morning." Soul growled tiredly "and he kept calling this whole morning too, because Maka hung up on him. I haven't slept more than two hours."

Tsubaki heaved an understanding sigh as she aimed a pitying glance in Maka's direction before settling down properly. As the tale-telling sound of a wheelchair heading their way echoed through the empty corridor, the students released a collective sigh before settling down quietly before their teacher had actually really showed up in the class room.

"Good morning class. Since I'll be busy with something else you'll all be doing-" the scary-looking man stopped his quiet speech to screw the silver screw more tightly into his head as if trying to produce an idea that way. Then, as if realizing he might need to rephrase himself, he cleared his throat and continued loudly:

"Today class you will be writing an in-class essay about an assigned topic which will be handed out shortly. The essay must be finished by the end of this class and contain some measure of passion within. Understood?"

Some nods of agreement or a weak "yes" was the only answer the Professor got. Satisfied he started to randomly hand out the topics to each student. This was followed by yells of "WHAT?! No way…" and "Oh for goodness sake!" from many of the students before everyone settled down again.

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Thirty minutes later all of the students showed moderate or slight interest in their topic, except one. Between Soul and Tsubaki a never ending sound of a pencil being used was heard. This caused Stein to smile slightly; Maka was as usual very serious when it came to work. Almost the spitting image of her mother in more ways than one. Then he continued his nap behind a thick dictionary, due to not having gotten enough sleep tonight as a _certain_ man had kept calling through-out the night because his "precious daughter was ignoring him". _Who honestly cares?_

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At the end of class everyone handed in their essays and continued on to do whatever and when Professor Stein later that evening settled down with a cup of tea to read the class accomplishments which were more or less…good he could not help but to forlorny mourn the loss of much needed sleep. There was a almost blank paper with the name "Death the Kid" carefully written in the middle of the upper part of the paper, this was followed by Soul's short account of pianos (a topic he knew he had not given him) and Black Star's "essay" about…his own star constellation? Then finally, Maka's essay made it to the top of the pile. As usual, it seemed well written and interesting. Professor Stein smiled slightly to himself as he begun to read. This small smile however, disappeared slowly only to be replaced by a sadistic grin.

"Passion indeed." he murmured before laughing out loud and writing a big A in the corner before moving on to the next essay.

**An essay about parents by Maka Albarn.**

**Parents: the ones who guide us through our first years, those who mold us into who we are and will become. They care for us, nurture us and in the end, they never really **_**leave**_**. Leave as in "go away", "leave you alone" and "disappear". It simply isn't natural for the average parent to do so; once the spawn is born they stalk it to the day they die (or longer). Whether it's because of wanting payment for having that night of awful sex (or in my case insemination because my parents have never touched each other), or the following nine uncomfortable months with a parasite or the following painful birth of said parasite, or nine months of hell, being the slave of said parasite-bearing partner, or simply a loss of goal in life, they can and **_**will**_** stalk their child to the best of their abilities. **

**Usually they excuse this sort of behavior with statements like "it's for your own good", "I know better" or the favorite "because I **_**care**_**". All of the above statements **_**can**_** be answered with "I doubt it" because really, what says "I despise you" more than exercising complete and utter oppression of the child's own free will? However, no parent wants their love-spawn to make their own mistakes and successes. They want complete adoration/obedience and so their statements should never be answered this way. If one wants some slice of freedom one must trick, cheat and be sneaky. In the end parents never suspects their own children to be foul creatures (even if them being the child's parents mean that their child by default is the spawn of satan).**

**Trying to isolate yourself from your parents usually works, though that also means giving up the rights to undeserved praise (which is nice if life treats you like shit). But usually having a semi-close relationship work as well, keep them occupied, let them feel appreciated for doing the smallest of things (so that they don't try to solve the bigger issues) and when they get tired of it (because old age will sooner or later appear cross-my-fingers) freedom has become reality. It is now spending time with your parents becomes fun, because they now seem to have forgotten why they stalked you and can actually be spoken to like **_**normal**_** people, without the occasional "you're doing it wrong, let me handle it". Life will be good in 50 years, I'm sure of it. **

**The End**


	2. Black Star

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul eater

Note: Katie gave me this idea in her review. And I liked it immediately. But the more I wrote the more I realized Black Star isn't the type to be seriously hating or being angry at anything. He is in the end a really good, understanding guy. This fanfic contain more of some sort of frustration that I think he might experience, thus the title of this chapter. The greatest difficulty of all was however trying to write as Black Star would. Due to not being taught slang in school I just used what I've picked up from television and such. So I hope you enjoy reading this and review!!

**RELEASE THE FEELINGS THAT YOU HARBOUR!**

Not far from Shibusen a boy is nailing a piece of sheet onto a wall. His movements are energetic and with every corner that gets nailed into the wall, his grin grows wider. He steps back and gets into a pose more suited for a visit at an art gallery than anything else. After having purposefully holding his cheek with a self-satisfied air, the silence of the night is pierced by a loud laughter. Then, the space in front of the sheet is empty, fast footsteps disappearing into the night. Left is the text upon it: Citizens of this house! Celebrate the privilege of having the great Black Star's sheet nailed onto your wall!

As said boy makes his way towards his and Tsubaki's apartment he begins to think. This is not unusual. What IS unusual is however the depth of said thoughts.

"Destiny, heritage and all other things like that are complete and utter crap. Every person has to work with what they have when they are born. Same for everyone. Everyone must choose a goal in life and everyone will have to face obstacles while reaching for it. The distance between the starting point of a dude's life and his goal decides how _many_ obstacles he'll face. Some take shortcuts through doing things they shouldn't do. My family did so. But I don't do shortcuts. Even though my heritage keeps giving some people the idea that I will in the future. 

In me they see my father, my mother, my CLAN. That betraying everyone is my destiny and that's what I sooner or later I will too. That I have no choice, it's already decided."

"Gods control their own destinies. Gods are by definition strong, smart and often handsome. All of the above are talents that I have. However, I have to put some effort into making them less… hidden and more REAL, more noticeable. Gods are noticed and respected. Nobody expects them to go all crazy and cut everyone down. It would of course help if people would co-operate! Because as a god I need followers. Don't get me wrong. Tsubaki is cool and all (everything close to me becomes cool cuz I sorta radiate awesomeness) but I need more people!"

"The down side of being god is annoying though. You have to help the witless masses realize just about the truth of EVERYTHING! I have performances everyday telling them about me and they still don't get it. Tsubaki does and she's one of the commoners. Sometimes I think of myself as the sun. No common man can stare into the sun and actually see it! I can though; it even resulted in me getting the ability to see souls for awhile, bright spots all-around. Don't get what the big deal about it is. But hey, Maka needs some sort of purpose or her soul would have broken in two by jealousy every time my awesome powers were used to save the day."

"But I have patience, one day, they'll all see. No rush, gives me more time to save the day anyway." With this thought in mind Black Star steps into the apartment before locking the door and following the scent of Tsubaki's home cooked meal.

The following day, Black Star is asked to write an in-class essay about constellations. He is no fool. If you want to be great you have to be able to navigate with the help of the stars. That however, Black Star decides, is old stuff and really boring. Why could he not have gotten a topic like Soul?

"Writing about myths would be like a breeze, I know one personally, writing about Excalibur would be easy. Or no, wait. That's exactly what the bastard wants. More texts about his creepy and probably boring existence, it would probably make more people search for him. I'm having no part in the destruction of common people's minds. So star constellations. Write about…stars. I'm of the Star clan. My name is Black STAR. I'm going to be a god. They all have their own star constellations, right? I see! Stein is giving me the opportunity to plan my greatness in his class! He's a very smart man."

**Constellations by Black Star**

**In the near future a new constellation will be formed. It will have all the awesome things a constellation can have. Like many bright stars, in different colors (so that you can spot it easily) and cover about the whole sky. The rest of the sky is for the old, no-more needed constellations. The constellation will be put there by Shinigami-sama as a token of his gratitude for saving the whole world from Keshin. It will be a perfect image of the greatest god of all. Me. Everyone will be star gazing a lot more because the constellation is just that good-looking. This is really practical for those poor souls that might never see the real deal. Of course, some might be jealous, but that's only natural. **

'**Nuf said.**

The End


	3. Death the Kidd

Disclaimer: I do not eat nor own Soul eater

Note: I just couldn't resist this topic. My sister gave me idea and I sort of played around with it. In this fanfic it is assumed that people outside of Shibusen is not that knowledgeable of what happens within. And some other assumptions that I apologize for, but telling them now would ruin the surprise. Enjoy.

**RELEASE THE ANNOYANCE THAT YOU HARBOUR!**

In one of the bigger cities of Italy, one of the most priced and loved buildings were torn apart by a minor explosion. As pieces of the windows and roof hit the street outside a figure made his way out of the now burning church. The stone-skeleton of the church seemed to sway ghostly in the light of the fire within it. The lone figure however, was innocently making his way across the square towards a smaller street on the other side not noticing the curious, odd group in the dark, crocked ally. Said ally was soon exploded with life as the whole group simultaneously started to whisper and gesticulates with arms to better empathize their point. The noise ended abruptly and a group of shadows silently made their way to the street that the lone figure entered before.

_Later --_ Death the Kidd's POV

My name has always attracted attention. If only because of what it implies. More than once I've had to assure people that: No, it is not their time yet and yes they are too young and it's not about mercy, but of fate. The word "Death" simply scares people who have not been in contact with it before. I can certainly understand the fear of the unknown. Like when the status of the toilet paper in the mansion is unknown. But I never thought I'd end up in this situation! I will not turn around.

My friends treat me differently because of who I AM, their friend, not my role in the universe. Tsubaki treats me with respect. To Black Star I'm a rival, someone he wants to surpass (and he can keep trying as long as he likes…), to Soul I'm a good friend, to Maka an equal and friend. To my partners I'm a respected meister and friend. All of these relationships are important to me and I would not want it any other way. Do not turn around.

But THIS reaction is new. And annoying. And tiresome. And what have I done to deserve THIS? Do not turn around.

Behind me Patty and Liz are just quieting down. They thought it was hilarious in the beginning, but they too find it annoying now, if their whispering is anything to go by. Serves them right for laughing at me before. Karma, now that's good symmetry! Do not turn around.

"Why aren't they going hooooooooooome?"

"Can we fight them?"

"I wanna be leeeeft aloooone"

I too would love to be left alone by those god-forsaken, horribly dressed – do not turn around- brats. If they don't give up within ten minutes I AM going after them. They WILL leave me alone. I wonder if my father ever had to put up with this…Probably not, HE doesn't inspire any doubts about who he is. There is the scull and the scythe. He is Death. Me, on the other hand? I am a child. Of someone who does negative things, at least if you're the deceased's relative. Ambiguous role or what? It doesn't really help either that Death is view by many as a unisex being, incapable of having children and emotion. And there are others that cause minor damage to the architecture than me. True not always explosions… But really! Do they really have to get it so WRONG? There is nothing similar between that guy and me. There is perhaps some, but I'm not evil!

Why can't I get stalkers who at least dress symmetrically? Okay, I've had it. This is finished. I'll teach them! As I turn around I'm faced with a group of people dressed in ragged black clothing, black make-up covering most of their skin and necklaces covering the rest of it. Oh Father! My vision is fading. How can they continue to breathe? Who let them dress like that? Am I in hell? No. Concentrate. Tell them off now. They're innocent er—or they mean no harm er—no- Well they don't deserve to die yet!

"Okay, listen up. I will only say this once."

The crowd stops and looks at me attentively.

"I am not-"

They still look like they're listening…

"….anti-chirst"

Silence.

"Okay?" I finish.

The tallest and ugliest/unsymmetrical of them steps forward to apologize, I hope…

"We understand completely. We have not been discreet enough my Lord. You wish to work in secret. We can understand that. Please tell us how to serve your plan better."

Of all the things that could happen.

"For the love of…" wait a minute.

I have the opportunity to change the world at this very moment. Why, I might even save it! I should not waste this opportunity!

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Fifteen minutes later the meister and his two weapons reaches the hotel they are staying at for the time being. The astonished older sister is being led by her giggling sister up the stairs to the entrance of the hotel. Their meister however, walks at a slower pace behind them, wearing a satisfied facial expression which changes into one of suprise as Liz finally breaks out of her shock to scream:

"You're insane!"

And this is the reason why all sadists most commonly are very neat and symmetrical people nowadays. And why Death the Kid decided that the in-class essay was better off not being written. There were already too many disturbing things out there; an essay about Picasso's paintings would only mess up the fragile symmetry of the world. Besides, his name looked good written neatly in ink in the middle of the paper. Yes, it definitely does.

I imagine that Picasso would be Death the Kid's nightmare. There is no symmetry whatsoever in most of his paintings…

REVIEW!!


	4. Soul Eater

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul eater

**RELEASE THE ****ANGER THAT YOU HARBOUR by ContrastingDeath**

He hesitantly put down his thumb on a key, pressing it deep down into its valley, before having his ring finger press down one of the other keys to complete the chord that now spring out of the wooden body of the black grand piano. The tone sounds throughout the large hall, rising and then dissolving into the air. The young man's face wrinkles into a pained expression. The tone had been off, shaky, wavering, squeaky…**wrong**.

He makes one more try, testing another chord. It doesn't feel right either. It does not sound like that specific C major truly should sound like. It wavers around its assigned frequency, its character. Like a kite on a much too windy day, the angle between the ground and the line is never **perfect**, flapping in the wind soullessly. It's annoying. He knows what is should sound like. The piano within his soul is perfectly made and perfectly tuned. It's a pleasure to play it. His talent is never as profound as when he plays on it. It has richness in every chord, a fullness and life that no other piano so far has shown outside his soul.

Yet, he continues to look for a piano that IS perfect outside his soul. He tells himself that nothing shows the character of a soul more than through the music that springs from the instrument person plays. It tells all the tales, talents and vices that the person harbours. What angers it, what makes the soul grow and burst out in joy. (1)

He wants to be able to play the piano outside, in the real world, so that they all can hear, can all see that **this** is truly one of his talents. Of course he would only play really truthfully when only Maka is there, because his soul is truly twisted and she is the only one that should know this. That he wants to know. That he wants to know the character of his soul. She can already see it, but he wants her to hear it as well, because then only she would know him that well. He wants to be close to her.

But he also wants them to see him for the person he wants to be. A cool guy. And he is very, very good at playing pieces where the melody becomes the culmination of coolness. Black Star would of course become green from envy. Because Black Star might be able to battle by himself, but he, Soul Eater, can make dead objects talk, sing even. The piano is his weapon and he is its meister. (2)

So he gets up from this piano and keeps looking for a well-tuned piano during the following year, until he one night lays down to sleep in his and Maka's shared apartment and is woken up half an hour later, by the phone ringing. He can hear Maka answer it, followed by a loud groan and the words "Papa, it's midnight! Leave us alone" then there is a small noise as the phone was put back into its cradle. He falls back into sleep easily.

He dreams of a room painted black, an atmosphere stifling and a huge well-tuned piano. He plays chord after chord, weaving together a sonata, a piece containing everything he wants to convey to the world. The music expands, float into every corner of the room and fills the whole space. He hears the melody and if he closes his eyes he can almost see it. Feel it vibrate under his fingers.

Suddenly, the piano isn't as tuned as it used to be. It starts to sound more unreliable, sounding the same no matter what chord he plays. Is this what his soul is like? A horrible monotone, non-tuned mess? Is he really this twisted? This un-cool and shrill? Nobody would like to hear **this**. The ringing sound stabs him with blunt edges. It crushes his heart, his lungs; make him unable to breathe properly. The black suit he wears seems warmer, almost burning and his hair sticks to his wet forehead. Suffocating him. He fights feverishly to get into control again. His fingers are hitting randomly, arms straining to put more force into the chords. He wants to take the lead, but his movements have become sluggish, slowly coming to a stop. Suddenly the keys get so cold; the skin on his fingertips starts to be torn off as he plays. Painting the soft ivory keys of the piano a startling dark red.

He pulls away, horrified and in pain, from the piano when he falls out of his bed. The ringing that the piano used to sound like becomes located further away, in the living room. It is of course the phone outside (pianos obviously do not 'ring'). Soul Eater gets up from the carpeted floor in a daze, turning sleepily to look at the clock: 2 a.m. His half-awake brain produces first a few unfocused thoughts that are soon joined by more intense ones, waking him up entirely. What decent person would call somebody in the middle of the night like this? Perhaps something has happened and they are needed? Some attack? An emergency? Somebody hurt? By the end of these thoughts Soul Eater is already by the phone, tearing it away from its cradle and putting the phone to his ear. He takes a deep breath and tries to, despite his breathlessness due to his panic, to sound cool and collected. It doesn't _really_ work.

"Hello? What's the matter? Is there any hurry? I'm not dressed yet…"

At the last statement the person who called interrupts, seemingly upset, screaming in an un-dignified manner:

"Why are you not dressed? If you have dared to lay one of your filthy fingers on her virgin body I'll slay you a hundred times and then…"

The man on the other side of the line is interrupted by Soul, who has scornfully been looking down on his very old (and un-cool, un-sexy) pyjamas during the death scythe's speech.

"I haven't touched her! I wouldn't touch that unsexy girl no matter what you paid me" for at least another couple of years, no need to hurry "you're seriously delusional if you think anyone would want to have sex with her…" Unfortunately for Soul, that sentence along with that thought is abruptly cut off as Maka comes up behind him and Maka chops him into a pleasant sleep.

This is why Soul Eater, when he wakes up a few hours later on the cold floor in the living room, is in no greater mood than Maka. This is also why Soul Eater promise to avenge his dream (because he is now convinced that there is no such thing as a well-tuned piano in the world) by calling the Death Scythe's regular bar to anonymously tell them their well-known customer has AIDS or something equally horrifying. He hasn't really decided yet.

This deprivation of sleep, headache (from the Maka chop), cramped muscles (from lying on the floor) and bad mood from the dream, results in the end of a poorly written in-class essay about myths.

**The myth of a well-tuned piano by Soul Eater Evans**

**There is no such thing as a well-tuned piano. There have been legends, and temporarily insane people have looked for it. But there just isn't any tuned piano to find. This means many people have strived towards a perfection that just doesn't exist. And never will because the current Death Scythe, Spirit Albarn's mere presence disrupts any probability of one coming into existence. His mere voice has made any good professional out there deaf, so they can't tune any pianos anymore. In fact, he is probably the reason we don't have that much instruments around here. He'd try to sing and we'd all be deaf and the Kinshin would sneak up on us and kill us and we'd…** and so the essay continues, without full stops, commas, capital letters or any focus on the central topic of myths whatsoever.

In the end Soul's bad mood was vented upon this poor piece of paper. The good thing about this is that no call was made to Spirit's favourite bar, thus he was still welcomed there. Keeping him far away from the rest of the world. Happy End, no?

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Author note: this time I actually put some really deep thought into the chapter (in contrast to the previous that pretty much was just written because I thought it was fun.) I hope this one turned out okay, because I feel its one of the best so far, when it comes to character analysis. Not so much humour though. I think I'm getting of track…This fanfic contains a small amout of MakaxSoul, but seriously, who is able to write about either of them without some sort of hint at this? Also, I assume that Soul is well-educated thus his thought are very well-structured. It has nothing to do with my inability to write in another way.

1. (Manga) When Maka and Soul fights that crazy clown Soul encourage Maka to press a key on the piano inside his soul. Soul then mentions that the key she chose was so like her, thus hinting that Soul views music as something connected to ones character.

2. (Anime) Got this idea mainly from the image where it is explained that the meister is like a musician and the weapon the amplifier of this.

Any ideas of who to do next? Review


	5. Tsubaki

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater…yet

Author note: I'm sorry I haven't updated in awhile, I've been busy with finding myself an apartment, literature and stuff for the new term. I hope you'll like this chapter despite it being difficult to follow. It is supposed to explore different aspects of Tsubaki. It is angst in the beginning, but gets funnier towards the end. Enjoy!

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**RELEASE THE FEELINGS THAT YOU HARBOUR by ContrastingDeath **

He looks down on me, I know he is. He has probably made an activity out of despising me. Despising me for not being the person I am expected to be. I am expected to be intelligent, graceful, decisive and strong both mentally and physically. I am and have, what he wants to have and be.

He wants me to make an impression. But I can't. I am satisfied with sinking into the shadows, satisfied with just watching, smiling, just simply excising. We have a camellia bush in our garden were we play. Play all sorts of games, childish games, mind games, sword games and quiet games. They all hurt to play. I look at the camellia when it hurts the most. When he asks me a question, wanting me to stand up for my beliefs when I only want to make him happy, want him to smile softly at me, happy that I care. I want him to care too.

But his face wrinkles as he thinks that I'm weak. Translucent, he can see through me and he sees nothing at all. I look away from his face, sad that he does not smile. I look at the camellia instead and its comforting shades of red and green. I am shorter than him so he only sees my head turn to look away at something he can not see. He never really sees anything.

But I want him to see. I give him a lot of stuff, my teddy, ball, ribbons and dresses. And I ask him, ask him all the time: what do you want, dearest brother? Big brother what should I do? And in my dreams he answers: only you, my beloved sister, only you. But in reality he only says: what do you want? And I never answer the right thing because he is always disappointed. I am a disappointment. I belong beside that camellia bush that everyone avoids. Because even it's death is unsettling. Winter makes it die and I live in a winter household.

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He looks at me, I know he is. He as probably made an activity out of paying attention to me. Paying attention to me because it's hard to know what I think, because I'm always smiling pleasantly he says. Only pleasantly? I think. I am on the verge of exploding with happiness. Happiness because you see me, see my needs and what I like. I like to be the audience and he wants an audience and we have so much fun when we laugh after every episode, every mission. Do you remember when…? Remember him? And then you fell I…And you got up and I…And you dropped me into the mud and my metal got cold from it but you made me warm when you picked me up again.

His soul's wave length is just like his name, an invisible star, a sun, and it defrosts mine. I do not have to give anything, but I do anyway, because it makes me happy. I cook him food, clean our house, teach him everything I know, stand beside him in battle and listen endlessly to his speeches (that very differently tell me the same thing: he is the greatest (and he is)).

And that is all he really wants from me. That I never give up on him. In my dreams our friends opinions become reality; he talks so loud that he can not hear me and I'm left in the far back of his head, an insignificant bush with bleached red pedals. But in reality you always say: Hurry up Tsubaki! Like he wants me to follow and I do. He always smiles brightly at me. So much that I sometimes think that his face will implode.

To him, I am something useful, both literally and in a figural sense. I help him protect his life in a battle and am a companion when the curtain has been closed and the audience gone home. I belong on the stage beside him, a startling, mysterious flower that impresses everyone. Or at least that's what he says. I flourish beside him.

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"What are you doing Tsubaki?"

I partially hide the notebook with my hands as I look up into Maka's pastel green eyes. I've been sitting under the chestnut tree in the park next to the school and writing in my diary since the last class ended. I wanted some privacy. And…I didn't get it.

"Good afternoon Maka, how did you do on the in-class essay?" I try to say as pleasantly and innocently as possible wanting to remove her attention from my notebook. One second later, I wish I had not tried to, as a fiendish smile spread on her face. The she chuckles darkly causing a shiver to travel up my spine _Did she finally snap?_

"Splendidly if you as me. Well, I might have gotten off topic a bit but…I think Professor Stein will appreciate my opinions quite a lot seeing as we both know a certain person…" the satisfactory, but evil undertone of her voice dispelled all curiosity I had towards that subject. _Oh well, Maka seemed more energetic now so no need to be concerned, right?_

"But you are better now? You seemed so listless this morning…"

"Yes" the enthusiastic nod and the slight smile emphasize her point. Her pleasant mood didn't last though because she quickly took hold of my elbow as I try to sneak away.

"And what are YOU doing exactly?"

"Um, writing?"

"…what?"

"It's kind of personal" _yes play the victim part, look down sadly, like you are shy. Better she drops the topic than that I actually have to say it. Don't upset pooooor Tsubaki. Really, why __do they insist that I'm all innocent? I've grown up in a family full of weapons for heaven's sake!_

"Oh, well I won't pry"

_Thank you_

"It's just that" my shoulders tense as she continues. _Why can't I have a little luck today?_ "You seemed very serious and-"

"YE-HOO! YES IT IS I! BLACK STAR! HERE TO ENRICH YOUR HOLLOW LIVES WITH MY AWESOMENESS!" I can't help but to smile gratefully at the dot far up on one of the spikes pointing towards the sky that makes the school building "so beautifully symmetrical" like Kid would say. Black Star has a very good timing (_didn't he mention that last Friday, when he changed the channel back just right, when the commercial ended and Super Mega Wrestling Smash Slam began again?_).

"Doesn't he ever get tired of that?" Maka mutters beside me, shoulders hunched and an annoyed expression upon her face. It almost looks like she will crumble under some extreme weight. I just can not understand why she won't see the realness and message of these performances. I do. It's not that hard. If people just keep quiet and listen for once instead of just complaining of "how loud he is" and "obnoxious". He isn't.

"I JUST REALIZED THAT I HAVN'T TOLD YOU OF MY LATEST ADVENTURES. I WILL NOT APPOLOGIZE FOR IT, BUT INSTEAD MAKE UP FOR IT" _I've realized something that made my life happier and I'll share it with all of you because you all matter to me. _

"AS I WAS WRITING MY AWESOME IN-CLASS ESSAY A FEW HOURS AGO, I REALISED THAT THEY HAVN'T GIVEN ME THE CREDIT I DESERVE AND MADE ME A STAR CONSTALLATION" _I did my best to write something inspiring and wouldn't it be amazing if we had star constellation of people we know and that matters to us?_

"IF I NEED TO BE PRESENT FOR THE MODELLING JUST GIMME A SIGN! FOR PURPOSES SUCH AS THESE I WILL OF COURSE SACRIFICE VALUBLE TIME! THIS WAS ALL, GO HOME AND THINK ABOUT IT!!" _I'm here for you all, you just have to make contact with me"_ He is actually very considerate and loving, isn't he? But nobody hears this. By the time he finishes most students have gone home already. Maka however has not…

"Do you think he'll ever grow out of it?"

"Wha-?" _Black Star without speeches? It's like thinking a chair will work better if you remove a leg!_

"That obnoxious screaming on top of his lungs. Hasn't it been less of that recently?"

"…he's been rather down actually" _I can't believe that I have not noticed this. But Maka have! I should perhaps make him extra dessert this evening; I don't think chocolate cake will work for him thought. I might have to make a lot of fried shrimps and such. He loves those. But as dessert? He's feeling down so why not. Just this once._

"Tsubaki?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Um, yes!"

Suddenly a red face with sky blue hair pops up above Maka's right shoulder and then:

"HELLO LADIES!" _well that should take Maka off my case. If only for the fact that she's probably deaf on one ear now…_

"Hi Black Star, didn't see you there. With all that screaming and shouting and flapping of your arms and heavy footsteps you're almost impossible to spot!" Maka replies after pushing him away from her.

"Is that sarcasm I hear?" He answers in that happy voice only he can use.

"I'm happy you noticed, I was laying it on pretty thick ya'know." Maka drawls.

"So, Black Star! Let's go home!" I try to keep my voice happy, and I probably succeed because nobody looks oddly at me. I want to interrupt this before Maka's bad mood makes a comeback. He does not need a friend treating him like that if he's feeling down (I'm sure he's just hiding his hurt right now).

"AH! Let's! Ladies first!" he finishes as he bows and actually wiggle his eyebrows at me. Good thing I was raised to be somewhat sneaky. So I pour out all of my books and put my empty beige handbag on my head as I scream "Ah! I'm just going to find my keys!" to hide the blush I'm now sporting.

My plan is however ruined by Black Star:

"No worries Tsubaki! I have them! Common I'll give you a hand, gimme you bag and I'll put everything back for you"

"Um, I'm stuck"

"What?"

"I'm stuck. Who knew my bag was this small? We better hurry home to get some grease for it"

"Wha-"

"So it will come of easier! Yes! Let's go-!" Before these famous last words of mine were uttered I actually thought my plan would work. But as I turn around to walk home, my head meets the tree I was leaning against before. And I fall down. And my bag falls off. Just like that. And just like that both Maka and Black Star can see my red face. If my old etiquette teacher could hear my thoughts right now, she'd shrivel up and die on the spot. _Bad Tsubaki, bad! Think nice thoughts…_

"-aki? -ubaki? TSUBAKI?!"

"Wha-?" and I sound like a drunk. Wonderful. He'll think I'm a total moron now. I want to hide somewhere…hopefully away from trees and other things that hurt to walk into, because I'll have a paper bag over my head for the rest of my life now! I start to dig a little hole with my hand as I lie there on the grass. Somewhere deep inside me there's a belief that that's the only escape rout left for me now…Did he just speak to me?

"Huh?"

"I better carry you to the nurse, you seem sick Tsubaki" I melt. His face is so close and he looks so concerned for me. ME. He is the sweetest…

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

As he carries me into the nurse office I can't help but think that being carried by him is the best feeling in the world. Weak knees, pounding heart, calmed by his beating heart. It is wonderful. I shall thank that tree later. The lord works in mysterious ways right?

"Black Star? Tsubaki?" The rather tired looking Nygus turns around to greet us in a sluggish manner as she's prone to do after a long day's work.

The rest of their conversation escapes my attention as I fall asleep in Black Star's arms, hearing the echo of the last words that I wrote on that piece of paper I handed in to Professor Stein.

**The advantages of ****megalomania ****by Tsubaki Nakatsukasa**

**Megalomania**** is a medical condition defined as "a delusional state where a person believes that they are superior to others. They may believe themselves to be a god, a famous person or a gifted athlete. They may feel they have great social, political or other powers." The advantages of this behaviour are said persons inability to accept failure, thus continuing to try to succeed. They never give up and mostly pull through it (resulting in a strengthening of their beliefs). Secondly, people that have this characteristic tend to be very interesting people and very charming in their own way. It is a refreshing company (compared to everyone else with their humble disposition). And everyone else that thinks he is a complete idiot just because he believes that he can surpass God is complete morons themselves that can not think outside the box. **

**Moving on, thought these symptoms are rather obvious said person is not MERELY a megalomaniac, as they very often possess other good qualities. They can be gracious, generous, helpful and smile-inducing people that deserve to get a chance to surpass God, since they work much harder than anyone else. They are people too and I wouldn't have anyone else back me up when I most need it than one. Because they believe that they have the time to help you, they can afford to share it with you. All they want for their trouble is recognition of what a great person they are. And does not everyone want that? Being a megalomaniac is not a hindrance or something negative. It's just a label people put on people that are too good to be true.**

**The End**

* * *

The qoute in Tsubaki's essay is from from the website of Wrong diagnosis.

Give me a review if anything struck you while you read this - and I mean anything .

Now I shall go and ponder upon who's next…I'm really confused concerning that question. Give me a shout if you have any suggestions at all…


	6. Liz

**Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater**

**Author note: **I'm quite suprised that people were so intrested in this! So I put some extra effort in to make this chapter finished as soon as possible. I'm going to make a chapter for Patty, Ox and Kim too. Because someone voted for them and that's good enough for me. The order I'm not to sure about tho. Patty and Ox got an equal amount of voters, so I'll see. If anyone out there really really want a chapter with one of those characters NOW, then just give me a shout and I'll work with it. Other than that: I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. I have given it a lot of thought and work (which usually means it is unconprehensible for anone that isn't me but, I don't know how I'd put it in another way). HUGS EVERYONE OUT THERE!

**RELEASE THE FEELINGS OF CRAZED LOVE THAT YOU HARBOUR by Contrastingdeath**

It's so strange sometimes. How everything has changed.

Years ago, in my "younger" years I would readily say that I knew everything that there was to know. Everything. Though, everything wasn't that much.

There was fact number one: some people are lucky. They are born under happy and lucky circumstances, they turn out to be smart, pretty, adorable, likable, lovable and everything in-between of that. People favor them. Bring them gifts. Small things like candy and an embrace when one is needed when they are young and money, advice and friendship when they get older. And they are so safe. Despite their beliefs to the contrary. They have a boring life they say, nothing ever happens. Don't have a boyfriend they say, nobody will ever love ME. Their parents are troublesome they say, they never leave you alone. They are the lucky ones.

Then there was fact number two: some people aren't that lucky. They are born under unfortunate circumstances, something gone wrong with the parents, the children. THE WORLD. Any excuse will do, because nothing ever happens without reason. It can't. If it could, then there are no rules. And in a world without any certainties, rules are a must. Sanity depends on it. Everything happens for a reason. It has to. We were born for a reason. Those cold nights on a grey asphalt-bed was not for nothing. The silent whispers within your soul that _this is too much_ and your withstanding of those voices was not for nothing. Not knowing when you would get your next meal – not knowing when you could get your sister her next meal, those angst-filled worries were not for nothing. Because my sister is EVERYTHING. She is my family. The one I hold when I get scared, when I want to ensure her everything is fine, when I just wanna show her that I love her. And because of her – the reason for everything – I withstood. Despite the rule that we would always stand outside the circle, in the spectrum of harsh edges, smothering angst and crying souls. I kept standing. For her.

Back then, my small, skinny, tiny, fragile sister with an iron will was the only one that nourished my existence. I really do love her. But sometimes I wish I had been alone. Wish she hadn't been there to suffer too.

I used to fight so hard for everything we got. A bed. Food. Security. I used to crawl, jump, bleed, scream my throat horse and grip things so hard the bones in my fingers cracked.

And it was all worth it as I watched my sister goof around. She'd do the strangest things out of just about anything. She did and does what she does best that way: keep me sane. Because if my sister is just beside me, and she looks at me and she says something and she trusts me and she stays with me, then everything is fine.

Now I watch my sister smile in a carefree manner and I think that this is all I ever wanted, and this is not going to go anywhere as long as I'm around. There is a difference between living just above the cold muddy surface of insanity, desperation and death and living with dignity in a place where it's okay to goof around – okay to complain about trifle things like that you're bored and that you'd like a boyfriend. My sister never does though. Makes me wonder if I somehow failed her. Failed to keep _her_ sane.

But when I look at Kidd and her, as they are both working together on our group-project were the one idea is more insane than the last, I wonder – is insanity a state were you realize that everyone around you has gone completely nuts?

"Liz" and out of nowhere the benefactor of our lives pops up beside me, looking quite thoughtful.

"Mm?" Translation: I'm listening enthusiastically… (Hey, he can't expect me to be grateful 'round the clock…)

"We have a serious problem."

"Seeing as it's you I'm guessing it's something small, can't this wait? I still have a headache from the in-class essay."

"It is your sister"

I sneak a peek at my smiling younger sister who's innocently continuing the project.

"…I don't see any problem"

"She must go"

"WHAT?!" _Away from me? Is he kidding? He better be! _Overprotective-big-sister-with-sharp-tools-and-no-morals make an entrance within Liz thick skull – roaring monstrously

"She has simply becoming a nuisance lately. So, I say we get rid of her"

"You better be joking" I grit my teeth and stare furiously at him in hopes that he might get the message. _If she'll be going anywhere it'd be your funeral she's attending kiddo. _

"Far from it. I have thought this over and come to the conclusion that everything would go along much smoother if we excluded her out of our group"

_He sounds so proud as if it's a good and fantastic conclusion! IS HE INSANE?!...But of course!!_

"Y'know, I've been thinking the same thing for awhile and I must say it's good idea. I know just the thing. I'll call some people to come and help us with this 'issue'".

"I'm so happy you are supporting my idea. Due to your close bond with your sister I thought you'd be mad at me for suggesting this."

_You have no idea._

"So, I'll go and make the call. You stay here with Patty 'kay?"

"Of course" and with a swift bow he goes back to the table were Patty is working on a brand new…cheetah made of cardboard?

_So. Now to do something about this. Ohhh there's so many choices... _Overprotective-big-sister-with-sharp-tools-and-no-morals crackle evilly as Liz makes her way towards the phone in the other room.

**Awhile later**

"Kid, the guys I called for help are here. They want you to come with them for a little talk."

"Sure"

As he passes me on his way toward the front door, I make sure to look him in the eye in a sly manner. Nobody touches my baby sister. Not even him. He'd know that if he had read the essay.

**One week later**

"Biiig siiiister. Where's Kiiiiiiid?"

My sister's whiny voice breaks me out of hard concentration; reading is a tough job I tell you. But never mind. My sister can complain, she's only been able to do it for a couple of years after all.

"Oh, he's on a vacation for some…re-evaluations you could say." I say in my authoritarian voice and use some sophisticated words for good measure. Don't want her to bother to much with this now do I?

"Oh, okai. Can we eat ice cream for dinner today?"

"Sure"

**Far away in a white complex, in a white, bare square room, a lone boy in white clothes resides.**

"This isn't so bad. I think I'll redecorate the whole house in this way when I am proclaimed healthy again. Which won't be very long. I hope. Father better come and get me out of here soon. Or I'm spreading rumors of his "romantic relationship" with Maka again. Let's see how confident he'll be without his weapon" The end of Death the Kidd's monologue hints towards the possibility that the little death god might stay for a very long time in the room at _Withmore's medical center for the mentally unstable._

**My favorite things in the world an essay by Elizabeth Thompson.**

**1. My sister**

**2. Food**

**3. Comfy bed**

**4. Fashionable clothes**

**5. My Meister's money**

**6. For Kid's and symmetry's sake (have I been infected by it?): Death the Kidd my Meister.**

**The End**

AN: for those who didn't get it – Kid thought Patty was hard to work with on the project so he wanted Liz to give him a hand and Patty to do something else. Which is why he asked Liz first. And Liz sent him to the mental hospital for it, she's more evil than one might think huh? Liz essay turned out this way because I don't think she is that much of a complex character when it comes down to it. What she likes she likes. No explanations needed (have anyone ever seen her get upset over complex things? No? That's because she knows what matters. And those things are enough). Though my old English teacher would probably have gotten a stroke if I had ever turned in an essay looking like that. Makes me plan a letter to her. You never know, she'd might be happy to hear from me! crackles evilly


	7. Ox and Harvar

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Soul Eater

**Warning:** I have not had this peer-marked meaning: there might be some grammatical error that I've missed. For that I'm sorry.

**RELEASE THE FRUSTRATION THAT YOU HARBOUR! By Contrasting_death**

A toothcomb, a can of mom's homemade ultra-strong hair wax and a bottle of hairspray with a hold stronger than iron. All ingredients are collected on an old little navy-blue wooden folding table in the darker corner of the heavily decorated room. Thick, luxurious carpets and curtains rein the walls and floors. In the huge, soft, feathery bed in the middle of the room the master of the room slowly wakes up to the sound of the large house waking up. People starting the tolls of their day, tiding up, cooking breakfast, reading the newspaper. Going about as usual.

A soft, coarse voice hums a tune in the next room. A person, who most commonly wears a quiet look of concentration, but now in the early moments of the day, feels the hope and enthusiasm of the new day spread its threads throughout the house, as the still awaking sun peaks out behind the houses on the far end of the town. The occupant of the room with the blue wooden folding table let his feet touch the dark carpet on the floor before stretching and staring to walk over to the expensive bathroom connected to his. Everything is still silent and tranquil.

As the boy, soon to be man, reaches for his toothbrush he stares silently at his mirror image. Pale. Tired eyes that sinks into his to big, pale head. The small, withered tendrils of hair stuck to the back of his huge head. A failure is staring back at him. And he just wants to cry. So many things have gone wrong. Because this is what he is. Small. Ugly. Insignificant. Powerless. He should have been so many things. Supporting. Unwavering. Strong. A bit more handsome perhaps. But this is all he is. At least his teeth are straight and white – after many hours at the dentist that is. He brushes his teeth without saying anything despite the screams of regret and frustration that bubbles in his chest like acid poured out onto a hot tin roof. Only the water tap pours soothing water onto his shaking hands. Hands of a failure. Hands unable to protect. And it is still peaceful in the rest of the house.

Next he moves on to the heavy dresser in his bedroom. Picking out clothes with care. The clothes make the man they say. And he chooses with care. Because he wants to be a better man than he was yesterday. In the end thought, he still dresses in the same attire. Because She once said he looked handsome in it. It's hard to change when the past is so much brighter than the dreaded future. The handcuffs are easier to button now than they were before. Before he was much clumsier, it could take minutes and minutes just to take care of the first button. In the end his partner would have to help him. But not today. Now he can do it by himself. By himself is much lonelier though. It is better to have someone there so that he does not over-think things. His shoes have leather shoelaces that when stretched makes a strangled noise. Like when somebody is hanged. Sentenced to death and killed with the authorization from a higher power. It is unfair, but one must follow the authority or there would be chaos – would it not? The strangled noise echoes inside the silent room. Echos that stay within the room. Is sucked back in. Pressures him.

Now he closes in on the little, sky-blue folding table in the corner of his room. He picks up the mirror and balances it upright on the table where he kneels and picks up the toothcomb. Then he straitens the tendrils of hair out before moving on to the wax. Assembling the two tails of hair into two separate pieces that he drenches in the solution, stretch and apply more is what he does to the two of them for minutes and minutes. Then he holds up one of them in just the right angle before spraying the hairspray- he holds up the newly-made spike for a few moments until everything has dried – then he let's go. The same with the other. And then it's finished: two pillars. Pillars symbolizing pride and justice. And suddenly he does not feel like a failure anymore. Because as long as he has these two pillars, he if anyone should be fighting. Fighting for a future that should be bright, but is yet not. Not yet at least. He will make another try today. Another try at success. He will save Her. And he will make Harvar a death-scythe. He will. The silence and darkness of the room is broken as the boy opens the door and start looking for his partner. It is still dark in there after he ahs closed the door. Still silent but Ox will not have to face it again until evening. Therefore he feels lighter as he walks down the corridor.

"What are you making?"

"Breakfast" Harvar replies calmly, his face hardening as he gets company. The tune he hummed retreats to be buried deep within his soul. He knows his partner likes to eat his breakfast in silence.

"…given that it's morning it seems kind of obvious that you'd be making breakfast" Ox can't help but mutter these words as he sits down by the table to wait for Havar to be finished so that he can eat.

"Hmm…"

Harvar knows not to make conversation so early in the morning. His technician likes to keep quiet company. Especially since Harvar always seems to say the wrong things these days. Though he can not help that notice that Ox seems a little more focused today. Great. They will need that when entering the castle.

Later that morning…

"Do you know were I put the grease?"

"What grease?"

Harvar can not help but feel irritated with Ox for bringing up this matter just minutes before they leave their place. Sometimes he wonders how Ox put himself together in the mornings with all these last minute things.

"I bought some grease for you"

"…for me?"

"YES you! People grease their tools to increase their abilities don't you know?"

At this moment, Harvar wish it would be legal to handcuff their technicians when they are not on duty. Or in Havar's case: give him means of removing Ox's conceited smirk.

"I can not remember ever having been greased before. And I will not acquire any either as you will not do it. I do not need it. At all."

Somehow Harvar can sense that his words are falling on death ears.

"You only grease tools that have hinges or cog wheels. I have neither, ok? OK?!"

"You'll rust!" Ox exclaims frustrated with his weapon.

"RUST?! Pardon me, but just what do you think I've made of?"

Ox then looks thoughtfully at Harvar for a few seconds before exclaiming:

"I know where we can put some!"

Harvar can only stare silently at his insane/eccentric/stupid partner as he lights up and runs off into the living room only to return with a shiny iron jar. Then he stares expectantly at Harvar as if waiting for him to jump with joy due to his thoughtfulness. However Harvar feels nothing but dread. Cold, sticky dread. Like the grease Ox wants him to cover himself in.

**Persistence - a good trait all technicians should have by Ox Ford**

Technicians are essentially warriors of justice and the like. As such possessing a mind that does not stray from the initial goal is most favorable. There is a saying that as long as there are soldiers the war is not lost. Of course one must be able to compromise but, the goals must always be met. With goal I mean that striving for justice, peace and a life lived with pride. These are goals that should never be diffused in the face of danger and hard times. Here the ability to preserve is most important, the ability to never give so to speak. Furhermore........................................

**Compromising- the pros and cons by Harvar**

When faced with a difficult conflict compromising is arguably the easiest way to find a solution. Depending on the persons involved it could be a mutual agreement both would gain from, a hard agreement with many sacrifices with peace as the prize. Or it could just be that one agrees to just do a small portion of the sacrifice. Like putting grease under you armpits because you technician would not let you leave the house otherwise. The concept of compromising is a powerful tool as such. By labeling a solution to a quarrel a compromise the loser is led to believe the winner too lost some dignity and so on. Those who do recognize this have no strength to argue this fact other than in a tiny in-class essay. Professor Stein- does grease give you fungus or infections?

**Author note:** I'm sorry I haven't updated in a long while. The truth is this however: my life got hectic due to college and co. Then my mom erased the things I had on my computer and therefore I tried to collect some of it from my friends instead (it was futile). So I had to rewrite a lot only to wake up one beautiful day to a computer dead. I actually cried some. Then the new semester started and it was hectic again. And now I'm here. Finally this is done. Finally finally finally. I just want to thank all those who has but this story up as a favorite! If I ever feel down I just read how many that have favored this story, and I get really inspired. So thank you very, very much. I'm planning to write a chapter about Patti and perhaps Deathschyte as well. Before going more into Soul Eater, Tsubaki and the rest. Please review if you any thoughts about this.

**Side note:** about this chapter: it is supposed to explore Ox and Harvar's way of dealing with Kim's (Her's) disappearance. I've taken much inspiration from the manga here. Not so much other sources…Also, I just realised that what their names have incommon is university names. Huh. Was he uncreative? Naaah.


End file.
